


Love is love and it is in the cards

by cblacksmith



Series: Born from guilt [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Demisexuality, Divination, F/F, Homosexuality, Lesbian Relationships, Marriage, More tags to be added, Nuns, Pining, Religious Conflict, Religious Content, Slow Burn, Symbolism, Tarot, Unriquited Love, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:21:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23179891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cblacksmith/pseuds/cblacksmith
Summary: Willow knows heartache. She's known in from impotence, from death and now from love too.Her best friend and the only woman she has ever loved is getting married to someone else, and not only is she the maid of honor, she will also give her away. There is no spell she can cast or incense she can burn to stop the pain, but she does know it will eventually fade.What she doesn't know is that there is someone else that holds much pain in their heart helping with the wedding plans, and their paths are meant to cross.
Series: Born from guilt [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666378
Kudos: 2





	1. Prologue: Love and joy are in your cards

It is warm inside my house. The chill outside is not enough to fog up the windows, but it had made me crave a warm cup of tea on the way back from work, so the kettle is on the stove as I patiently wait for it to whistle. I still have my coat on and I kick off my shoes as I try to find one of the many decks of cards that I have laying around the house. Once I had closed the door behind me I had been overcome with the sudden urge to pull a card, as if my gut was trying to warm me about something.

I find one of my firsts Ryder decks on one of the kitchen shelves. It has probably been sitting there after a night of wine and bad movies with the girls. It does have a selenite piece resting on top, so I don’t bother with further cleansing as I grab it and murmur a quick protection chant.

I shuffle, split, shuffle again and spread the whole deck over the black marble of the kitchen isle. Eyes closed, I hover my hands over the arch of turquoise card stock waiting for that familiar sensation on my chest. I feel it and pull the card out.

The kettle whistles and I open my eyes, coming face to face with The Tower.

“Agh, shit.”

Someone knocks on the door, three quick raps that I know all too well. And I’m so scared for a second that something bad has happened, that she may be in some sort of danger. It’s a second thought to turn off the stove before running to the front door and opening it without even looking through the peephole.

Morgan stands there, and as soon as she spots a fragment of my face, she raises her hand.

“Sophie proposed!”

The world slows down. Morgan’s smile is as wide and sharp as the knife I feel digging into my heart. The dying sunlight turns to shadows against my body, except for the tiniest ray that manages to sneak through the space between my waist and arm. That miserable ray gives it its all to reach Morgan’s fingers, finally bouncing off the diamond hugged around her annular; she waves them in the air to show off the blinking stone, and in this slowed down timeline, her fingers look like trees swaying to a gentle breeze, long and thin, splattered with brown acrylic paint and deep green nail polish.

I begin swallowing, trying to beat the knot that wants to form in my throat before the game even starts, and my mind races with all the things I can respond with and everything I can think of not to cry. The door hasn’t even finished its opening arch when a blessed cloud decides to take a rest in front of the sun, and that miserable ray of light is cut, slowly dissolving, much like the Moirae cut the threads of fate and let them flutter away in the wind.

The diamond winks one last time and then it’s just a stone. The door meets the stopper and I finish swallowing.

“You’re getting married?” I ask. Morgan nods excitedly and covers her mouth with her hands to muffle a squeal of joy. “You’re getting married!” I open my arms for a hug and she jumps in, wrapping her arms around me. My shoulders frame her tiny body and I feel her shiver when a gust of wind blows away the orange leaves that litter the street.

I finally invite her inside, thankful that the water is ready for tea.

Much like the first time we met, Morgan talks almost without stopping for air, and I just drink my tea in silence and listen, appreciating every time an orange curl comes loose and she has to tuck it back behind her ear.

“It was magical! Just us and the moon. Some soft tunes on the background… cozy under our coats in the crisp fall evening…”

“Mhm.”

“It was simply perfect, so I obviously started crying because I just can’t believe that someone so wonderful decided to spend the rest of their lives with me, and you know me, Will, once I start crying I just can’t stop and Sophie HATES it when I cry.”

“Everyone does, _chérie_.”

“So she tries everything but I keep crying. Eventually she just decides to go inside to grab me a glass of water, and when she opens the door, _bam._ Lizzy falls face first to the floor. Can you believe her? She had been listening to the whole deal!”

I almost choke on my drink. “Wait, Lizzy knew about this?”

“Yeah! Sophie had to explain to her why she needed the terrace.”

_That motherfucker_. I have to control myself so I don’t grip my mug tight enough to break it. She could have totally let me know in the twelve hours that went from the engagement to now, and the universe knows that I could have used some warning.

I think back to the card still lying on the island, pushed aside with the rest of the deck to make space for tea and cookies. _Maybe I got some warning after all_.

“Anyways, it took my like twenty minutes to calm down.” Morgan takes a sip from her mug and her nose wrinkles, before she begins diligently dumping spoonful after spoonful of sugar into her tea until she is satisfied with the taste.

“Is there a date set?”

She snorts. “Nah, not yet. The sooner I can think of is like… Two years from now on? The Lord knows how difficult it is to get a decent venue in New York and I want a nice wedding, Willow. I’ve practically been planning since I was like five.”

Morgan goes on another rant about everything she wants, from flowers to food to entertainment, and although she has that glint in her eyes that I love, it stings to know that it is because someone else.

I try to focus on the burn of the chamomile down my throat instead of the burn of the tears in my eyes. I try to smile, and it comes out very small, not unlike the ones I usually give, so it is okay, and before my voice breaks I manage to say: “I am really happy for you, Morgan. You deserve this.”

Morgan smiles back. She twists away from me to grab something from her bag, and by the time she looks back at me there’s a small black box on her hands and tears pooling in her green eyes.

“I don’t know if I deserve this or not, but I do know that I wanted this… I needed it. And for some reason, when everything seemed lost and like I wouldn’t ever get anything I desired, I believed you.” She twirls the box between her fingers and pulls the sleeve of her sweater over her wrist to clean away a stray tear. “Remember what you told me? That night?”

“Love and joy are abundant in your cards,” I answer, remembering the cold and the anguish of that night when I tried with all my might to calm Morgan down and get her to her house, away from that bridge.

Morgan nods fervently. “Those words are the reason that I’m here. You are the reason. I stayed… And I found the love of my life and I know we will be happy together. All because of you,” she opens the box as she says that, something silver glittering under the kitchen lamp, “and you are so important because of that. So I want you to be by my side, the day of the wedding.”

“Morgan…”

She puts out her paint-stained hand to stop me, eyes pleading to let her finish, so I do.

“I know it can be stressful to be a maid of honor and all that bullshit, but you’re my oldest and best friend… And for so long you were my only friend. I love you…”

Those words make me taste blood.

“Would you… Would you give me away? As my wedding gift. And be my maid of honor.” She looks at me expectantly, and when I don’t respond she hurries to add: “You can wear whatever you want, you don’t have to match with the bridesmaids,” as if that sweetens the deal, but clothes are the last thing to cross my mind.

Morgan lets the box down between us and I finally take it and open it. Figuring out the design with my watery eyes is tricky, but after a few seconds I manage to recognize Strength engraved in the fine silver necklace. Instead of the usual lady with short hair in dress holding a lion’s mouth open, the image shows an naked woman with long flowing hair, sitting with her back resting against the back of a lioness that holds a rose in her mouth.

“I had to google your deck, but I wanted to give it a little twist.”

“You designed it?”

“Yes.” She lowers the neck of her camel sweater and reaches inside, pulling out a similar fine and long silver necklace, holding it out for me to see. This one is The Chariot, according to the roman numbers on top, but it takes me a few seconds to put two and two together. The same woman portrayed in her necklace carries another woman, smaller and with a sad smile covering her face, through a storm. “I hope you don’t mind.”

I shake my head and the tears that had been pooling in my eyes finally slip down as I take Morgan’s free hand on my own. “They’re beautiful.”

The air seems too cold when I take in a deep breath, trying to buy myself some time before answering. Should I say no? Make Morgan find someone else and rob her of one of her wishes for her wedding day? Or should I say yes and give away the woman I love to someone else?

“If me saying yes is what makes you happy,” my voice breaks a little at the end and I hide it with a hones and anxious chuckle. “I would love to be you maid of honor, _chérie_.”

Morgan grips my hand so tight it is borderline painful and I groan lowly as she lets out another joyful squeal, tears still spilling from her eyes, but she ignores them I favor of pulling out her phone and opening up her Pinterest board, making me laugh.

“Okay, Sophie hates everything about organizing events and things like that, and I can’t be trusted, so you’re the only one with good taste in this party…”

The tea goes gold as Morgan shows me ideas for the invitations and what she wants to look for in a venue. It is only a matter of minutes for her to scoot her stool next to mine so that we can both see comfortably and I have her arm brushing up against mine.

We are looking at wedding dresses when she goes quiet over one that makes her smile grow, and I just take in the image; she looks better. She has put on weight and her skin and hair have a healthy glow. There are still shadows under her eyes, but they’re far from the bags she sported a few years back. She is happy, excited about life and the future it holds for her, next to her wife…

Although it hurts thinking about it, Sophie makes her happy, and that is what is important. I should be grateful that Morgan loves me and still pictures me in a future she is so excited about, even if I’m the one holding her bouquet behind her back and not the one standing in front of her.

I make the decision to just take my feelings, bury them somewhere inside my heart, like I have done many times before. I have to suck it up and be what Morgan wants me to be.

“Oh, those flowers would really bring out Sophie’s eyes,” I mention, pointing to a picture that Morgan quickly pins to her board.


	2. Oh, Captain deal

I’m very private about my life outside the nunnery, and none of the sisters ever complain about it. I’m courteous and diligent with my work, always doing what I’m told the second I’m told to do it. They see me cleaning, doing the laundry and shopping or teaching at the school during the weekdays, and that’s all they need to know about me.

There’s just one time they may be left with questions. The other sisters always ramble about what they did on their weekend, usually being going to the movies or the theatre, while I prefer to not talk about it. No one asks about it, and no one really minds that I don’t narrate my day, though I can always feel Sor Ethel’s prying gaze on me whenever I arrive after my free day. She looks like a side character who knows the protagonist is up to something evil, and to her I might as well be. My activities on these weekends could be considered treacherous. I happen to concur with heretic nonetheless, people damned to the flames of hell. But she never dares to speak a word, and just stares at me while the other sisters wave me off with a blessing and a smile.

For some reason I tend to blush when I part from the abbey. My heart thrums anxiously and m skin burns hot. I know shame all too well to not speak its name, but once I am sitting there, surrounded by the “heretics”, it feels wrong to be ashamed.

There, sharing a table with my friend and her friends, and having brunch over folders filled with plans for the wedding, I can’t help but think that there can be nothing more holy. Love and happiness abound, and laughter spills as easy as water. There is no place for shame at that table.

Sophie has an arm under her fiancé, smile as bright as the sine that shines above us, making the simple terrace look like a sunny island in the middle of an ocean made of brick and glass. Morgan is smiling widely too, answering questions excitedly and completely oblivious to Sophie’s fond looks.

“Okay, okay. But seriously, though. Should _all_ bridesmaids match?” a woman asks, calling attention to herself. Small, short brown hair and dressed in a white shirt with many buttons undone. I try to remember her name from when Sophie presented everyone to me, but it escapes me like many of the others. Only a few managed to ingrain themselves into my mind.

“Yes, Elizabeth is right.” And she I do know; Liu, a chinese at dealer, friends and business partners with Morgan. Despite her also small height and frame, the woman is very intimidating with business apparel and no-time-to-mess-around attitude.

“Don’t call me that.”

“I’m sorry.” Liu flutters her eyelashes and rolls her eyes before clearing her throat and goes: “Yes, Liiiiizzyyyy is right. I personally think that each group of bridesmaids should dress differently.”

That statement arises many complaints. Half of Sophie’s football team is practically in a screaming match about how color coordinating the two groups will be difficult, while the other half tries to convince them that it will be easier to pick a dress everyone likes the less people there are in each group.

Miley, Sophie’s younger sister, rises from her chair and points an accusatory fork at Liu. “It’s not fair! You’re a smaller group and you will stand out if you wear a different dress! There’s like a thousand of us.”

“It’s not my fault Morgan has so few friends!” Liu squeals in her RP accent, causing the aforementioned to cover her face with her hands in a mix of shame and amusement.

The squabbling goes on for quite a few minutes and I am so busy trying to follow all the arguments and counterpoints that I can’t even think of something to say that will defuse the situation. Thankfully the discussion dies down. Once Miley has made her final point about how the situation is unfair she sits down, and Sophie turns to look at someone.

“Willow, you have good taste. Please enlighten us.”

It turns out that Sophie is addressing the woman sitting directly in front of me. Sha had been calmly sipping her coffee until now, but Sophie’s voice makes her look up from her lap and she stares at her over the translucent rim of her glasses for a few seconds. She clears her throat and pushes the long black braid that rested over her right shoulder aside.

“Umm… We’re talking about?”

“Bridesmaids dresses,” Morgan provides with a smile.

“Right.” Willow reaches over and grabs one of the folders to skim one of its pages. “And for the theme we decided on…”

“Sketches,” Morgan answers again. “But I don’t know how we could put that into clothes.”

“Yeah… There’ll be no dresscode, right?”

“As long as no one wears white,” Sophie chuckles.

“Okay, so… what if weeeeeee settle on a particular mold and fabric, and then choose a range of colors, so that everyone can dress a different shade? And maybe there can be a slight difference between the groups, like one group’s has two shoulders and the other’s just one or something like that.”

This time the group murmurs instead of getting into a shouting match, and then Miley nods softly. “I can work with that.”

The conversation transitions into the range of colors and what fabric the dresses should be made of. I don’t really care about my dress, so I look around the table and notice that Willow doesn’t seem to be paying attention yet again.

“You really trust they’ll choose something you like, huh?” I ask, trying to make conversation with her.

It takes her a few seconds to realize that she’s being talked to, looking around and meeting my eyes with a guilty blush once she does.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“It’s okay. I guess you must be reading something quite entertaining.”

She holds up a small tablet and I can barely make out pictures of waiters before she puts it back down. “I’m reading catering reviews, wanted to make sure they all pass the Rainbow test before suggesting them to Morgan.”

“Rainbow test?”

Willow nods. “Yeah. Sophie mentioned that they had a run in with a homophobic waiter a few months back on a wedding.”

“Oh, sorry. I hadn’t thought about it.”

“It’s okay. Ideally no one would have to think about it… It’s not that big of a problem in NYC anyways, but it never hurts to check.”

I don’t really know what to answer and Willow doesn’t seem to have anything to add, so we kind of fall into an awkward silence. Willow clearly felt called out for not paying attention, because she turns off her tablet and puts her glasses away. “You asked me something, right?”

“Hm?”

“Before, when I was reading. You asked me a question, yes?”

“Ah, that. Just wondering how much you trusted the other ones to pick your dress,” I chuckled nervously.

“Oh, not at all, but I’m not dressing up with the group.”

“I thought you were a bridesmaid.”

“I am Morgan’s maid of honor, but she bribed me with letting me dress however I want. I also will be walking her to the altar, so she kind of wanted me to stand out a little bit. Besides, I don’t really do dresses…” she wrinkles her nose and shows me a small smile, almost as if it were a courtesy.

I was about to ask Willow why she would give Morgan away instead of her father, but thankfully I remembered Sophie telling me about Morgan’s family; her mother had died when she was young in an accident and her father had passed away a few years back due to an ugly pneumonia.

“Eva, was it?” I nod. “I get the vibe you don’t really care about the dresses either.”

“Oh, no. I don’t really have a style of my own. I’m happy with whatever Sophie is happy with.”

Willow shakes her head and puts her elbows on the table so that she can rest her head on her hands, her many bracelets clinking together with the movement. “Everyone has a style. Maybe you just didn’t note it. What do you usually wear?”

I giggle. “Habits.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m a sister.” Willow frowns harder. “A nun, but technically not a nun.”

“Oh… I get it. Sorry, I did not know.”

I shrug it off with a smile, some strange pride bubbling up in my stomach. “It’s okay. It’s not like Sophie said it, and she probably doesn’t talk a lot about me.”

Willow’s expression goes a little somber; her smile falls and her eyes darken as they dart to the happy couple for a few seconds. “I actually don’t talk a lot with Sophie. We just chatted a few times.” She looks at me and probably notices my confusion, because she hurries to add: “I’m much like Morgan, not a people person.”

“I hope I’m not bothering you then.”

“Of course not!” She looks around, that small smile returning to her face. “I was ready for lots of socialization today. I’m good for small talk, I just don’t… You know,” she begins circling her hand, one around the other, and she bites her lips, “talk _talk_ with many people.”

“Uh, talk talk. You’re really running out of words, huh?”

The small woman from before, Lizzy, looks at Willow with a sly smile, and to my surprise, the other woman turns to her with stone cold eyes, nostrils flared in irritation and shoulders tense.

“Who said you could talk to me?”

“Uuuh, you’re still mad, baby?”

“Not your baby.”

“I promised I’d make it up to you!” Lizzy’s smile widens and I can sort of guess what she may have done under the table, because Willow’s eyes go wide open. She slaps one of Lizzy’s hands away and then raises her own to tug at Lizzy’s brown hair. “Sonuva- hey!”

“Willow gets up, roughly drops her napkin on the table and starts walking towards the door that leads to the inside of the building.

“Will?” Morgan calls. I turn to look at her and she looks concerned, slowly separating herself from Sophie’s embrace as if she might go after Willow any second now.

“I’ll be right back,” Willow replies, voice loud enough so that Morgan can hear her from the other side of the table. Lizzy and Morgan watch pointedly as Willow closes the glass door and disappears into a hallway. Everyone is still silent when Morgan gets up with a groan.

“Darling…”

“I’ll just check on her. Won’t be long,” Morgan tells Sophie. For a second I think she’s going to beeline for the door, but first she makes a stop to whack Lizzy on the head. “What the heck did you do now?!

“Nothing I swear!”

“She stole your cigarettes!” and after that Morgan runs off after her friend.

Lizzy frantically searches her pockets and when she finally confirms that yes, Willow has taken her box, she puffs out and crosses her arms. She catches my eyes on her and smiles again. “Just Willow being her grumpy self.”

“Didn’t seem very grumpy to me,” I murmur.

“That’s because she was being polite. Believe me,” and she gives me one of what seem to be her trademark devilish grins. “We are _good_ friends.”

  * ••••••



The way back home from work is awful. I woke up with a pounding headache that only got worse as the day dragged on, so once my last appointment of the day had walked out the door, I closed the shop early. The whole ride on the bus I have my eyes closed and once I get down I light a cigarette for the few blocks I have to walk.

The taste is almost foreign. I had actually given it up until recently, but the stress of the wedding threw me back on my bullshit. I had been hopeful that maybe, after the first hit of Morgan announcing her engagement… It would be the beginning of the end; I would finally accept that it is over, that Morgan would never look at me that way, and start to rid myself of all feelings. And at the beginning it seemed possible. We still got together for tea at the shop like usual and talked about our weeks and other miscellaneous stuff for another year or so. The weeding was rarely mentioned, and I would be reminded of it by Morgan fidgeting with her new ring most of the times, but it didn’t put me in a bad mood.

But then comes the summer. Morgan and Sophie got all the money they needed to begin paying the deposits, so the planning began, and I realized that it hadn’t been the beginning of the end. It had been the beginning of something different. Probably more bitter, because I work wright beside Morgan and their planner, so I have to be there and watch the merry couple go through cakes and napkins, card stock for the invitations and pictures of them looking happy and so in love for the decorations.

I hate feeling guilty for yet another thing, but not being able to just be happy for Morgan makes me feel like an asshole.

I lift up my head, juggling the cigarette on my lips as I take my keys out of my purse. When I lift my head I notice a person sitting on the steps leading up to my front door and I recognize them immediately. I take a long drag and roll my eyes.

“Go away, I can’t deal with this shit right now.”

Lizzy clearly hadn’t heard me walk up, because she jerks at the sound of my voice, her phone almost falling to the floor, but she manages to catch it on the last second. She stands up, dusting off her floral dress.

“How did you recognize me all the way from there?”

“I could sense your aura.”

She frowns and steps aside to let me open the door. I don’t even try to stop her when she sneaks in and walks into my apartment as if it were her own. She’s hanging her bag when I turn around to lock the door and leave my keys on the stand next to it.

There’s the sound fabric rustling, and when I turn around I come face to face with a very smiley and lingerie-wearing Lizzy, her dress pooled around her feet. A pattern of crisscrossed ribbons and red lace cover her torso and part of her legs.

“That one’s new.”

“Ta-da!” she sings, doing jazz hands. “Did I or did I not say that I would make it up to you?”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“We both know you’re never in the mood, but you always have a jolly time.” She looks at me as if waiting for me to pounce on her, but I just roll my eyes. She clicks her tongue and struts her way to the kitchen, making sure to provocatively sway her hips. When I get there I see her grabbing a bottle from the wine fridge and two glasses. “Is this still about me not telling you Sophie was going to propose?”

“What? No! That was like a year ago!”

“I’ve been busy, baby.”

“You still had plenty of time to come here, though. Was I angry last time?”

“Was too busy shoving my tongue down your throat to notice.” She uncorks the bottle and pours a generous amount into each glass. “What is this about then?”

“Brunch?”

“Ah, that’s right. Don’t be angry, though, I did you a favor.”

“You trashed my excuse.”

“You had to be there!”

“No, I did not. You could’ve filled me in later.”

“Oh, I can fill you alright, baby.” Lizzys chuckle is drowned by my groan. “If you couldn’t deal with the brunch you won’t be able to deal with the wedding. Think of it as me being you Love Watcher, instead of your Weight Watcher. You may be cursing me now, but once you see Morgan sign the papers and get over her, you’ll thank me.”

She joins me on the island, sitting down on the stool across me and sipping her wine in silence. I see her raise a judgmental eyebrow when she notices my already empty glass resting between my hands.

Silences with Lizzy were never awkward, probably one of the main reasons we ended up in this relationship. That and her brutal honesty that, though sometimes harmful, is very helpful. And I can’t help but think that she’s right. I won’t be able to deal with the day of the wedding.

A few tears slip away and she notices before I can discretely clean them.

“What happened?”

“We went to see the new photographer on Sunday,” I murmur, slidding my glass across the marble for her to pour more wine into it.

“Let me guess.” She tilts the bottle. “They looked very happy and in love.”

She passes me the glass back. I nod and drink, but this time slower. “Extremely.”

“Look, baby, you know I’m not good with this emotional thing.” Lizzy takes a big gulp of wine. “All I can say is that it will get better… Eventually.”

“What if I can’t get over her?” I have to stop for a few seconds when the knot in my throat makes itself known, but it goes away after a few deep breaths. “She was the first person I ever…”

“Fell in love with?”

“I guess.”

“Maybe you’re just a romantic late bloomer. And to be honest, you don’t go out much, so you don’t give yourself many chances to fall in love, baby.”

I chuckle. “I’m too old for that.” Lizzy breathes a _motherfucker_ out and I laugh a little louder. “Why couldn’t I just fall in love with you?”

She takes another gulp of wine. “No. I’m a garbage can on fire. Messed up people…”

“Morgan was messed up too.”

“Morgan is a different kind of messed up. We’re too similar.”

My eyebrows shoot up on their own. “Are you calling me a garbage can on fire?”

“A very hot one,” Lizzy nods, and I finally let out a fullhearted laugh, which she seems very please about. “I wanna have sex with a garbage can on fire.”

“Are you ever not thinking about sex?”

“No.”

“Hmm.”

“My therapist said it’s a coping mechanism.” She leans in and wiggles her eyebrows. “You should try it.”

I lean in too, stopping a few inches away. “Maybe I should.” She smiles and closes the distance, kissing me slowly but not at all soft.

It is an awkward position to make out, so after a few seconds my elbows start to ache against the hard surface and I break away. Lizzy has a pleased smile on her face as she watches me get up and walk towards the stairs, but she still hesitates, staggering on the stool until I motion for her to follow me.

“Yay!” She gets up and runs after me, her quick footsteps on the hardwood the only notice I get before her warm hands are untucking my shirt from y pants in the middle of the stairs. “If you want you can get really mad about brunch and fuck me up. I won’t complain.”

“I still am very mad at you for selling me out,” I say, but it comes out as a bit of a growl. Lizzy tries to grab me again once we’re on the first floor, so I grab her and push her against my bedroom door. “Fucking behave.”

“Or else?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ship in a bottle" by Steffan Argus is such a mood.


End file.
